Northstar Vale a grin as sharp as a knife (mtr.)

her scent consumes him, some mixture of almost fruity and floral sweetness; but in truth, there was no part of her that does not consume him. incessant kisses continue, only further derailing his train of thought. it was already difficult to summon tonttu; and can only hope that she does not require him to speak for much longer. should she keep up her teasings, the ardent bathings of her tongue against his flesh his ability to form any coherent words will be chased away entirely. already, it is more than half gone.

with the tip of her nose brushing against his lips she murmurs her acceptance of the word ...if that doesn't sound so terrible could, indeed, be considered full acceptance.

the muscles in his flanks, in his hips twitch with carefully chained restraint, despite the weightlessness the water warmpool offers. the ache grows, the yearning spreads like wildfire, defiant at the idea of being contained. melkor moves then, not breaking the contact of their bodies but instead, bidding her to be still so he could press a kiss to the ruined corner of her mouth, to nip at the junction of her jaw, to nibble at the tip of her ear; almost cat-like at the affectionate nips he leaves, soothing with a sweep of his tongue.

what would you have of me tonttu?